


The case of the other criminal taxidermist

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2018 stories [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Old cases, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: "Imagine the street value of the heroin you can stuff into a dead labrador,” Sherlock replied airily as he put the egret down and ambled away.





	The case of the other criminal taxidermist

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Watson's Woes JWP 2018 fic fest, prompt #2.
> 
> Please note: no actual labradors--or egrets--were harmed in the creation of this fic.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me_ , John thought as he stared down the crowded length of Portobello Road.

“Come on, John. It'll be fun.” Sherlock almost grinned as he rubbed his hands in obvious glee.

“Yeah. Fun,” John intoned, shuddering at the prospect of trawling _that_ for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Two hours later, John's waking nightmare was in full swing: the shoving crowds seemingly made up of every single person in Britain taller than him, the smelly tat (honestly, tourists would buy anything), the obviously fake “antiques”, the pickpockets, the heaving seediness of it all. Ten years in the army had given him an allergy to pre-used anything. And now he was chest-deep in it, all because in his boredom Sherlock had come up with the lunatic idea to add to his Soanes-ish collection of scientific oddities in a bid to make his mind palace manifest in 221B.

Mole-like, John tunnelled his way through the crowded, past tables piled with probably stolen “Victorian” “silver” and mountains of chipped chamberpots and soup tureens to where Sherlock was standing, turning over a stuffed egret in his hands as if he were looking for a maker's mark.

Without looking up, Sherlock started, “I had a case once about one of these.”

“Stuffed egrets?”

“Taxidermists. Turns out it's a popular hobby for drug smugglers.”

“Yeah, I know; I was there, remember?” John paused while a fact clamoured for his attention. “Hold on; the taxidermist case was insurance fraud, not drug smuggling.”

“I've dealt with more than one criminal taxidermist.”

“Really? How many criminal taxidermists can there be in London? 'The case of the _other_ criminal taxidermist', then. 'Taxidermist, Part 2!'” John chortled. Ignoring Sherlock's mild annoyance, John pointed at the egret. “Great place to hide stuff, though.”

“Indeed. Imagine the street value of the heroin you can stuff into a dead labrador,” Sherlock replied airily as he put the egret down and ambled away, snaking through the crowd in a manner seemingly calculated to provide maximum irritation to the short. John had the feeling Sherlock didn't need to imagine just how much heroin fit in the body cavity of a dead labrador, or its estimated street value, but he knew he'd best leave the dead labrador alone if they were to enjoy the afternoon.

“What exactly are you looking for?” John asked when he caught up 50 metres later; Sherlock was transfixed by the odd antique drill contraption in his hand. “Hey, isn't that—”

“A trepanning drill, yes.” Sherlock cranked the handle and almost crooned. “Look, John, still in working order.”

“Are you going to claim you once had a case about them, too. 'The Adventure of the Over-zealous Trepanner'?”

“Don't be ridiculous; if I'd already had a case featuring one of these.” He flourished it in John's direction. “I'd already own one.”

“You buy that, you need to keep it under lock and key when Rosie's around.” John was struck by an image of Rosie trepanning her dolls under Sherlock's gleeful tutelage. The tiny doll handcuffs were bad enough.

Sherlock only _hmm_ -ed in reply and with more than a shade of regret handed the Victorian medical torture device back to its vendor.

“So, tell me about the other criminal taxidermist case,” John said as they ambled through the thankfully thinning crowd.

“Not much to tell. But it was diamonds, not drugs they were smuggling.”

“And your mind just went from gems to drugs.”

“As the mind does. Low weight, high value—”

“Fits neatly into dead pets.”

Sherlock paused one of his heavy pauses. “Why the interest? It was a very mundane case.”

John skirted the issue. “Well, taxidermists are hardly two-a-penny in London. And the dead pets angle. Seems a bit—creepy.”

“Ah yes, the dead pet angle. Of course that's why you're interested.” Sherlock's hint of a smile was on the wry side, so John let the matter drop. He'd made his point and it would hardly be productive to keep beating a stuffed egret.


End file.
